I have had customized license plates in the past. Once, when I was a regional manager a restaurant company known as "Wings", my tag read "WINGNIT".
I bought a tag for the woman to whom I was married that read "4X4AU". There were for of us in the family, and she was a big fan of Auburn University football. Collegiate sports tags are VERY popular in the Deep South.
On a recent road trip I saw a woman in Chevy Tahoe on big ol' tires and rims, with that tag "IMTHSHT". I am not sure how this one made it passed the censors at the DMV, but good for her.
But now I will ask you to bear with me as I ask you, gentle reader, to abbreviate the following words:
1) hourly
2) girl
In my mind, this would be HRLYGRL. I saw this self-same tag on the back of a Camaro driven by an attractive woman. I did a double take, thinking why advertise in this manner and business must be pretty good. It only dawned on frontal lobes some time later, when passing a motorcycle dealership, that perhaps she was abbreviating "Harley Girl".
Currently I have just a plain tag on the car. I suppose in my middle ages I have become a little cheap and perhaps slightly (ever so slightly) less vain. Maybe I just haven't come up with a witty, hard to misinterpret tag. In my state, a generic customized tag can have up 7 characters and a specialty tag (such as for with an affiliation with a college, charity, etc.) can have up to 5 characters. What ideas might you have for a customized tag for Jud?
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Well, Dang
It is unwise for me to wander into a large, second-hand bookseller after a few beers. I walk out with a lot of books, many of which in the cold light of the morning I cannot recall why I found them interesting enough to purchase.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
How I Spent My Summer Vacation, part 44.7
I enjoyed a 4-day holiday weekend. I had been initially undecided how to spend my time, although I new a road trip would occur, and that trip would likely keep me in the Deep South. I loaded a bag, through it into the fully fueled car and headed out.
I found myself once again in South Carolina, and decided that in the spirit of the holiday, I would seek out some of the revolutionary spirit. I got off the interstates and took to the back roads.
My first stop of note was at a roadside historical marker deep in the Sumter National Forest. It told of Otterson's Fort, a stone structure from the 18th century that had stood on the Tyger River. I was intrigued. I backtracked of the main road and found another road that led to a boat ramp a little closer to where the fort is reported to have been. The river, a small affair by river standards, was swollen with rain, so attempting to wade or swim it to find what may remain of the structure seemed like a fool's errand. I walked around a bit, enjoying the light through the trees, the smell of the forest, and the sounds of the river running its course.
A short time later I was on my again, headed north. There were a couple of tantalizing road signs ahead, but I wanted to try to reach Cowpens before it closed. I stopped in the early afternoon to pick some blackberries on the entry road to some shuttered manufacturing facility. Both blackberry patches and shuttered businesses were a common sight on my journey.
As I was walking back to my car, I thought I saw something on my right rear tire. I got down into the gravel to get a better look (my car sits low to the ground and can be hard to look at the tread) and what I saw surprised me: the steel fibers were showing through. I let out a sigh. At least I was on back roads and not on the interstate where I might have a blow out at high speed. The downsides were plenty. I was in the middle of nowhere with negligible cell coverage. I was unlikely to be near a merchant who would carry my funky sized tires. I knew it would cost a pretty penny for tires.
I got back on the road, limping along, knowing I was driving on borrowed time. Soon I was in Spartanburg, and used my cell phone to locate a tire dealer and a hotel nearby. I found such a combo, a Firestone near a Holiday Inn Express. Fortune must have taken pity on me, as the room I booked was the last one they had. They turned away three of four families with small children while I was checking in. Maybe I should have been generous and given up my room. Uh, no.
I unloaded some of things and checked out the room. The clerk had told me it had recently been refurnished, and the desk and such were nice. But it was a smoking room, and smelled like it. I thought for a second about going to buy a pack of Camels or buy a pipe and some loose tobacco to take advantage of my smoking room, but then I remembered I am not a smoker.
I wandered down the street to a Panera Bread and had a soup and sandwich combo, neither of which were particularly tasty. But I wanted to be near people, and eavesdrop on their conversations as solo diners often do. I surfed the net on my iPad while I slurped my cold soup and and my bland chicken salad sandwich.
Bright and early on Saturday I rose, partook of the forgettable hotel breakfast, and then called the tire shop. They opened at 0700, and I had hopes that I could get in and out and be on my way. Nope. They didn't have the tires I needed, and the clerk told me he didn't think that the warehouse would open that day, either. He didn't offer much hope for any other shop in the town would have them either. I began calling shops in nearby Greenville, which is a larger town. I called the Goodyear store and the manager there said he could get the tires for me that day. He offered me some choices, but the prices were steep. He must have needed the business or he might have been a good guy but he cut me a sweet deal on a set of four tires.
I checked out of the hotel and drove cautiously to the tire shop. It was about 1100, and as it would take a bit to get the tires installed, so I asked the manager, Matt, what I could to do to kill the time while I waited. Matt suggested that I grab a bite at the Turtle Shell, a little restaurant around the corner. I took his advice. I was the only person in the joint or than the waiter. Well, there may have been a cook or two in the back, but not anyone else that I could see. I ordered and read a book.
After about an hour I meandered back to the tire store and they hadn't quite finished, but I could see that it wouldn't be much longer. Soon enough, the work was done. I paid the bill and was on my way, headed to Cowpens National Historic Site.
The sun was shining, which was not the status quo for a lot of my trip. I lowered the convertible top, and secure in the knowledge that my tires would not fail me at an inopportune moment, I goosed the throttle on the interstate in a bid to make up some of the time I had lost to vehicular maintenance.
The park was easy enough to find. I was surprised to be greeted near the entrance by a uniformed soldier. He was about my age, and he was directing traffic. The parking lot was near capacity, and he directed me to the next soldier who pointed me to a parking place. The park had an abnormally high number of visitors that day because they had a living history display and a concert planned.
I watched the folks dressed up as Continental soldiers and militia fire their muskets and even a small field piece. I next went to the visitor's center and picked up some of the literature about Cowpens, and then headed out to the trail. On the lawn behind the center sat a large pavilion tent, under which sat a band. A program soon began, with the presentation of the colors by more soldiers (all members of the South Carolina National Guard). Small children took turns reading the Declaration of Independence. I especially enjoyed that part of the event. When the children had finished, the band began to play a variety of patriotic tunes. I listened to a couple of them and then headed out to see the park.
The battlefield itself was fairly small. The battle was fought in a clearing in January of 1781. I followed the walking trail that was sprinkled with markers that told the story of the battle, the leaders, the disposition of the troops and the flow of the engagement. I took my time, trying my best to envision what had occurred on this little spot of ground. My thoughts turned to some of my friends who are or were in various branches of the service and how I wished they were to more fully explain the advantages of the terrain and discuss why the lines of battle were formed as they were and how the battle progressed. The two that leapt to mind were The Colonel and Len Neal. The Colonel and I went to college together, and is quite well read on military history and well practiced with the disposition of troops. Len is different character altogether, but he has a keen mind and the ability to tell you what the folks on the ground were probably thinking and how combat really is. Len is also an expert on small arms, and his knowledge would have been welcome to explain how the technology of the day helped shape events in the field.
I bought some postcards and other trinkets at the visitor's center on my way out of the park. I then headed out towards Kings's Mountain. I had to jump on the interstate for a bit, which, as usual, was fairly unremarkable. Interstates do a wonderful job of facilitating the movement of people and goods, but they are fairly sterile affairs. Most exits on an interstate are equally bland. I prefer the older highways and county roads.
I arrived at King's Mountain late in the day. So late, in fact, that I wouldn't be able to really see the park and hike the 1.5 mile trail. I had about enough time to catch the last showing of the film describing the events that led to and resulted from the battle here. As the film was nearing its conclusion, a young ranger walked in and asked, "Is anyone here driving a convertible?" I said yes and stood. He looked at me and said, "Well, it's raining."
That was a bit of an understatement. The skies had opened. I ran (jogged) the 100 meters or so to my car, sat in a soggy seat and every so slow put up the convertible top and raised the windows. No sense in going back, as the park was closing in about 10 minutes. I popped the frunk and grabbed some of my previously worn clothes from my backpack and proceeded to mop up some of the water in the car from the seats, dash, and door panels. As the windows inside the car began to fog, I drove out of the park, down the mountain, and turned the wheels toward home.
Not a bad way to spend the holiday, and I definitely will be going back to see more of the gorgeous South Carolina countryside and to learn more about its historic past.
I found myself once again in South Carolina, and decided that in the spirit of the holiday, I would seek out some of the revolutionary spirit. I got off the interstates and took to the back roads.
My first stop of note was at a roadside historical marker deep in the Sumter National Forest. It told of Otterson's Fort, a stone structure from the 18th century that had stood on the Tyger River. I was intrigued. I backtracked of the main road and found another road that led to a boat ramp a little closer to where the fort is reported to have been. The river, a small affair by river standards, was swollen with rain, so attempting to wade or swim it to find what may remain of the structure seemed like a fool's errand. I walked around a bit, enjoying the light through the trees, the smell of the forest, and the sounds of the river running its course.
A short time later I was on my again, headed north. There were a couple of tantalizing road signs ahead, but I wanted to try to reach Cowpens before it closed. I stopped in the early afternoon to pick some blackberries on the entry road to some shuttered manufacturing facility. Both blackberry patches and shuttered businesses were a common sight on my journey.
As I was walking back to my car, I thought I saw something on my right rear tire. I got down into the gravel to get a better look (my car sits low to the ground and can be hard to look at the tread) and what I saw surprised me: the steel fibers were showing through. I let out a sigh. At least I was on back roads and not on the interstate where I might have a blow out at high speed. The downsides were plenty. I was in the middle of nowhere with negligible cell coverage. I was unlikely to be near a merchant who would carry my funky sized tires. I knew it would cost a pretty penny for tires.
I got back on the road, limping along, knowing I was driving on borrowed time. Soon I was in Spartanburg, and used my cell phone to locate a tire dealer and a hotel nearby. I found such a combo, a Firestone near a Holiday Inn Express. Fortune must have taken pity on me, as the room I booked was the last one they had. They turned away three of four families with small children while I was checking in. Maybe I should have been generous and given up my room. Uh, no.
I unloaded some of things and checked out the room. The clerk had told me it had recently been refurnished, and the desk and such were nice. But it was a smoking room, and smelled like it. I thought for a second about going to buy a pack of Camels or buy a pipe and some loose tobacco to take advantage of my smoking room, but then I remembered I am not a smoker.
I wandered down the street to a Panera Bread and had a soup and sandwich combo, neither of which were particularly tasty. But I wanted to be near people, and eavesdrop on their conversations as solo diners often do. I surfed the net on my iPad while I slurped my cold soup and and my bland chicken salad sandwich.
Bright and early on Saturday I rose, partook of the forgettable hotel breakfast, and then called the tire shop. They opened at 0700, and I had hopes that I could get in and out and be on my way. Nope. They didn't have the tires I needed, and the clerk told me he didn't think that the warehouse would open that day, either. He didn't offer much hope for any other shop in the town would have them either. I began calling shops in nearby Greenville, which is a larger town. I called the Goodyear store and the manager there said he could get the tires for me that day. He offered me some choices, but the prices were steep. He must have needed the business or he might have been a good guy but he cut me a sweet deal on a set of four tires.
I checked out of the hotel and drove cautiously to the tire shop. It was about 1100, and as it would take a bit to get the tires installed, so I asked the manager, Matt, what I could to do to kill the time while I waited. Matt suggested that I grab a bite at the Turtle Shell, a little restaurant around the corner. I took his advice. I was the only person in the joint or than the waiter. Well, there may have been a cook or two in the back, but not anyone else that I could see. I ordered and read a book.
After about an hour I meandered back to the tire store and they hadn't quite finished, but I could see that it wouldn't be much longer. Soon enough, the work was done. I paid the bill and was on my way, headed to Cowpens National Historic Site.
The sun was shining, which was not the status quo for a lot of my trip. I lowered the convertible top, and secure in the knowledge that my tires would not fail me at an inopportune moment, I goosed the throttle on the interstate in a bid to make up some of the time I had lost to vehicular maintenance.
The park was easy enough to find. I was surprised to be greeted near the entrance by a uniformed soldier. He was about my age, and he was directing traffic. The parking lot was near capacity, and he directed me to the next soldier who pointed me to a parking place. The park had an abnormally high number of visitors that day because they had a living history display and a concert planned.
I watched the folks dressed up as Continental soldiers and militia fire their muskets and even a small field piece. I next went to the visitor's center and picked up some of the literature about Cowpens, and then headed out to the trail. On the lawn behind the center sat a large pavilion tent, under which sat a band. A program soon began, with the presentation of the colors by more soldiers (all members of the South Carolina National Guard). Small children took turns reading the Declaration of Independence. I especially enjoyed that part of the event. When the children had finished, the band began to play a variety of patriotic tunes. I listened to a couple of them and then headed out to see the park.
The battlefield itself was fairly small. The battle was fought in a clearing in January of 1781. I followed the walking trail that was sprinkled with markers that told the story of the battle, the leaders, the disposition of the troops and the flow of the engagement. I took my time, trying my best to envision what had occurred on this little spot of ground. My thoughts turned to some of my friends who are or were in various branches of the service and how I wished they were to more fully explain the advantages of the terrain and discuss why the lines of battle were formed as they were and how the battle progressed. The two that leapt to mind were The Colonel and Len Neal. The Colonel and I went to college together, and is quite well read on military history and well practiced with the disposition of troops. Len is different character altogether, but he has a keen mind and the ability to tell you what the folks on the ground were probably thinking and how combat really is. Len is also an expert on small arms, and his knowledge would have been welcome to explain how the technology of the day helped shape events in the field.
I bought some postcards and other trinkets at the visitor's center on my way out of the park. I then headed out towards Kings's Mountain. I had to jump on the interstate for a bit, which, as usual, was fairly unremarkable. Interstates do a wonderful job of facilitating the movement of people and goods, but they are fairly sterile affairs. Most exits on an interstate are equally bland. I prefer the older highways and county roads.
I arrived at King's Mountain late in the day. So late, in fact, that I wouldn't be able to really see the park and hike the 1.5 mile trail. I had about enough time to catch the last showing of the film describing the events that led to and resulted from the battle here. As the film was nearing its conclusion, a young ranger walked in and asked, "Is anyone here driving a convertible?" I said yes and stood. He looked at me and said, "Well, it's raining."
That was a bit of an understatement. The skies had opened. I ran (jogged) the 100 meters or so to my car, sat in a soggy seat and every so slow put up the convertible top and raised the windows. No sense in going back, as the park was closing in about 10 minutes. I popped the frunk and grabbed some of my previously worn clothes from my backpack and proceeded to mop up some of the water in the car from the seats, dash, and door panels. As the windows inside the car began to fog, I drove out of the park, down the mountain, and turned the wheels toward home.
Not a bad way to spend the holiday, and I definitely will be going back to see more of the gorgeous South Carolina countryside and to learn more about its historic past.
Friday, July 5, 2013
News from the Road
The holiday road trip has been dogged by rain. Lots of rain. I didn't visit any of the sports on my list today, but did find a couple of neat gems hidden along the back roads of South Carolina.
At one stop, as I picked blackberries for a late afternoon snack during a break in the rain, I though I saw something one of the rear tires of my car. It turns out that is was steel tread that had worked its ways through.
The good news is that I didn't have a blowout while on the interstate. The bad news is several fold. I was in the middle of nowhere, beyond even a hint of cell coverage. I had to detour to Spartanburg, which is a lovely town. The tire shops were closed when I limped in, though. I did find a hotel down the street from a chain tire store that says they open at 0700.
I would imagine that they will bend me over and spank for the tire, if they even have it in stuck. I hope that it doesn't take all day, either. If it takes more than 2 hours and I have to pay out of an orifice yet to be determined, well that would just be a damn shame.
I hope that I have no further updates from the road, as one on my personal goals for this trip was to try to stay off the grid.
At one stop, as I picked blackberries for a late afternoon snack during a break in the rain, I though I saw something one of the rear tires of my car. It turns out that is was steel tread that had worked its ways through.
The good news is that I didn't have a blowout while on the interstate. The bad news is several fold. I was in the middle of nowhere, beyond even a hint of cell coverage. I had to detour to Spartanburg, which is a lovely town. The tire shops were closed when I limped in, though. I did find a hotel down the street from a chain tire store that says they open at 0700.
I would imagine that they will bend me over and spank for the tire, if they even have it in stuck. I hope that it doesn't take all day, either. If it takes more than 2 hours and I have to pay out of an orifice yet to be determined, well that would just be a damn shame.
I hope that I have no further updates from the road, as one on my personal goals for this trip was to try to stay off the grid.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Remembering 3 July 1863
One hundred and fifty years ago today, what is known as the "high water mark of the Confederacy" occurred. The war was not yet decided, although the odds of a Southern victory were slight. But there was a chance. A large, seasoned, well-led Confederate army had invaded Pennsylvania. After a day of bloody fighting, the dawn arose on the 3rd of July and Lee decided to take a huge risk at Gettysburg.
It was by all accounts, a failure, like the notion of the Confederacy itself. Although I was not born in the South, and some of my neighbors and relations may not consider me to a true Southerner, my roots are here. My great-great-grandfather fought in the Civil War and wore gray, but he wasn't at Gettysburg.
I have no sympathy to the overall Confederate cause, which was the preservation of the institution of slavery. I do understand the romantic notions that many Southerners feel for the Old South, however distorted those images may be. Some prefer to remember slavery as a benign institution - nothing could be further from the truth. I am sure that there are some hardcore racists who wished that the institution remained intact to this day. I would suppose that many of the soldiers who took up arms for the South had no greater understanding of some of the forces at play than do soldiers today, who fight because of dreams of glory and adventure, or they follow a flag, or fight for their country, or in the case of the Civil War, for their state, and their home.
William Faulkner wrote a bit about Gettysburg and the emotions and thoughts that it stirs in the minds of many of us.
For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it’s still not yet two o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it’s all in the balance, it hasn’t happened yet, it hasn’t even begun yet, it not only hasn’t begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Garnett and Kemper and Armistead and Wilcox look grave yet it’s going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn’t need even a fourteen-year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago….
The charge, of course, ensured the loss of the battle by the Confederates. Estimates place the number that made the charge over 12,000. Casualties were in the neighborhood of 50%, and Pickett's command was shattered.
The war would drag on for almost 2 more years until at last the forces of the Union prevailed. But on this day I can see through the eyes of that 14 year old boy, and I am there, enjoying the shade of the trees as I gaze across the field and up the hill, knowing the challenge before me. I have been to Gettysburg numerous times. I have walked across the field. For me it is truly a hallowed place.
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